


Human Kindness

by daemoninwhite



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark, Hurt No Comfort, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Jason Todd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemoninwhite/pseuds/daemoninwhite
Summary: Despite what society says about omegas, Jason's happy not having close pack ties.Pity for him, his would-be pack refuses to allow the Red Hood to run roughshod over Gotham, and decides to do what must be done to get their wayward omega under control.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 29
Kudos: 253





	Human Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the ever-lovely ScandalSavage. LMK if you spot any remaining SpAG issues - and allow me to reassure you, they're all my fault.

Jason’s head _hurts_. It hurts so bad that he wakes up and immediately tries to roll over to press it into his pillow in the vain hope that the darkness and pressure will help. There’s a tug at his waist—he must’ve got the blankets twisted around him again—and he whines, mentally tossing up the pros and cons of opening his eyes to try and free himself, with the chances that the sunlight streaming in through his…

He doesn’t have a window in his bedroom.

He steadies and deepens his breathing, tries to make it seem as though he’s fallen back asleep. He listens as best he can. There are none of the sounds he’d expect if he were still in Gotham city, no sound of sirens, of traffic, of _people_ in that way you only get from living on top of one another. There’s nothing, just…. Birdsong.

He sighs and opens his eyes.

Fuck.

The ceiling above him is familiar. He looks around, and he doesn’t precisely recognise the room, but he knows its vibe.

“Fucking-- _really_ Bruce?” he asks aloud.

Silence greets him. He’s not sure where the cameras are in this room—there’s cameras in every room except the bathrooms and what bedrooms are inhabited, if Bruce is willing to leave him alone here Jason would put money on that being because he didn’t remove what ones were here—but he can make a decent guess, and so glares as best he can up as a just-slightly out of place piece of crown moulding.

His head is still fucking killing him. What happened to him?

He goes to kick off the blankets and—oh _fuck_ no.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he curses as he looks down at the intricate belt/restraint around his waist and realises that he’s shirtless. 

That’s … weird, especially since he can’t see or feel any sort of injury that might be the reason why they undressed him—except in the crook of one elbow, there’s a little cotton ball with some tape over it, like they had to draw blood for something. But there hasn’t been anything that would… Jason hasn’t been exposed to any gases or toxins or pollens, there’d be no need to check his blood for any contaminates. He huffs and rolls his head from left to right to try and release the tension that creeps up his spine. There’s no use guessing until someone comes in the room and he can start interrogating them. 

Or maybe it’s an elaborate gambit to make him paranoid, have him focusing on the extremely minor injury instead of why he’s here. He looks further down; his hands are free but, as he discovers when he starts to poke at the belt—exploring as best he can what he’s unable to twist around and see—that won’t help him. 

He can’t think of a better word for it than “belt”. It’s a black piece of … leather, maybe, and he guesses that it’s about five inches wide, covering from low on his hips to just under his waist. It shouldn’t stop him from bending or anything, it doesn’t appear to be that sort of restraint. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of latch or buckle, how the hell did Bruce get this on him? There’s some type of rope that sprouts from both his hips and trails off under the bed, he experiments with twisting from side to side and guesses that it’s probably the same piece, that it starts on one hip, goes off and under the bed only to pop up on the other side. It’s … effective, although he’ll be out of it if he can just break one side of it, it’s not attached to anything besides itself, there’s no rail or anything like that that he could break. He can’t figure out how it’s attached to the belt-thing either, it almost seems like it’s one big piece of material.

Keeping his eyes open so long makes the pain throbbing in his brain spike dangerously. He squeezes them closed and presses the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, hoping that the pressure will help.

It does, a little, the pain drops down to what it was when it woke him up, which is just low enough that he becomes aware of that fact that his chest aches too.

What even happened last night?? He can remember going out on patrol—he’d met up with Nightwing, and there’d been something… he’d been trying to get away and Nightwing had been pursuing him in a weird, single minded way that he usually doesn’t…

And then… Batman had shown up? He thinks? His memories get foggy around the time that he was grappling towards 42nd street…

“You’re awake!”

Speak of the fucking devil.

“What did you do?” Jason spits, squinting at the doorway.

Dick doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. There’s… something. Jason can’t quite…

“You left us no choice, little wing.”

Dick walks into the room, heads straight for an armchair that had been in the corner under the window. He drags it over to Jason’s bedside and sits down. There’s… something about his stare.

Jason inhales as subtly as he can. Something’s… off, and he can’t tell what.

Dick leans forward and pushes his fingers into Jason’s fringe. He hadn’t realised how sweaty he is until Dick does so. “Looks like Tim was right.”

“About _what_?” Jason snarls.

Dick sighs and runs his fingers through Jason’s hair again, scratching just slightly with his fingertips. It feels _amazing_ and Jason fights to keep his expression steady, to not close his eyes and… purr… wait, _what_? Jason never wants to do those traditional omega things.

“Bruce can explain it a lot better than I can, Jay. Will you wait for him to come, and listen to him?” Dick sounds so… hopeful. Jason forces himself to growl, jerks his head as far away as he can and smack Dick’s hand away.

Dick makes a sad little noise that doesn’t affect Jason at all, doesn’t make him feel weirdly guilty. It _doesn’t_. “Bruce said-”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what Bruce says,” Jason snarls, his voice alpha-deep.

Dick glares at Jason. He might know, intellectually, that Jason’s an omega, but Jason’s perfected sounding like an alpha, and Dick’s a strong enough alpha that he always gets aggressive around challengers, real or perceived.

“You’re getting out of control,” Dick says, his voice starting at a growl and easing as he goes along, visibly forcing himself to take deeper breaths and calm down. “And being an omega, there’s certain avenues we have available to us.”

Jason swallows, his heart drops into his gut. “What?”

“We have a responsibility for your actions, Jay.”

Jason jerks his whole body around to face the new threat that he hadn’t heard enter the room, stupid, _stupid_ , that’s how they’re trained to ambush people, you know _better_ than that-!

Bruce is in the doorway. He’s not even in Batman gear, fully dressed down in civvies. Jason’s stomach turns over. Are they really so confident…. Do they really think him so little a threat?

Bruce walks into the room and Jason’s hit with a wave of… something. He’s not sure what. He’s never… Bruce has never…

He closes his eyes, shakes his head to clear it, and by the time he feels settled, Bruce is across the room and is putting some sort of machine on Jason’s bedside table.

“We’ll need you—Dick, is the remote?”

Dick holds up a basic looking remote—Jason catches a glimpse of four buttons—and hands it over to Bruce without a word. Bruce presses something and half of the bed smoothly rises up until Jason’s sitting, not upright, more like on a 45 degree angle.

“What are you-?”

“Jason,” Bruce interrupts. He sits on the edge of Jason’s bed and cups his jaw, tilts his head up and forces Jason to make eye contact with him. “You’re out of control.”

It’s Bruce’s flat, matter of fact tone that makes Jason’s hackles rise. Like he’s stating an objective fact and not an opinion. “You don’t-“

Bruce _growls_ , and Jason might not have been a member of the Bat or Wayne packs for a long, long time, but he’s clearly not excavated that kernel of pack obedience as well as he thought, because his jaw instantly snaps shut.

“I’m not doing this because it’s fun. I’m doing this because you’ve given me no other choice. You’ve proven that jail isn’t a suitable place for your rehabilitation and my conscience will not allow me to continue to allow you to do as you will.”

Jason swallows again and his throat clicks. There’s something itching in the back of his brain, something this reminds him of but he just can’t quite… Bruce won’t let him look away, he just forces Jason to keep staring straight at him and he can see Dick doing something out of the corner of his eye but when he darts a look over Bruce just shakes his jaw until he looks back at Bruce.

“You’re an omega and that gives us options that we wouldn’t have otherwise. Know I’m doing this because I care about you and your future.”

Jason clears his throat. “I’m sure that’s what you’ve convinced yourself of,” he says, barely above a whisper. Bruce’s eyes burn into him.

“It’s the truth,” Bruce says with all the weight of a prison sentence.

Dick touches Jason’s shoulder and Bruce leans back. Dick’s holding… something from the machine. It almost looks like an oxygen mask, one that’s designed to go over the nose and mouth, but there’s two of them and they’re not quite shaped right…

“Lean forward for me, Jay?”

Bruce lets go of Jason’s jaw and settles back.

Jason glares wordlessly at Dick.

Dick sighs. “Yeah, too much to ask, I guess. Bruce, would you?”

Bruce grunts. He grabs Jason’s shoulders and pulls him forward until only his lower back is pressed against the mattress.

Dick does something. Passes a strap around Jason’s chest. Jason can’t … Dick has to press up against his body to fully reach around him and it just … there’s something, this, this _smell_ coming off Dick, Jason’s scented him before ~~back when they were pack~~ and he’s never smelt so strong before…

“Thanks, little wing.”

“Wasn’t exactly my choice, Dickhead,” Jason grumbles.

“Still!”

Jason shoots Dick a look—why’s he so fucking into this? Dick just smiles back, wide and guilelessly, but his hands shake as he messes with the strap until it lays flat, adjusts the weird cup things until they each lie tight to Jason’s pecs. Jason doesn’t really have enough body fat to have proper breasts, like most omegas, even male-presenting ones, but he does carry enough fat there that he’s slightly more plush than other people he’s seen shirtless. Dick accidentally brushes over a nipple as he’s adjusting the cups, and the shudder that runs through Jason’s body is the last fucking straw.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He explodes, twisting his arms behind his body so that he can undo the strap.

Bruce and Dick both lunge forward. Jason twists and struggles, does his best to kick out at them, but his legs are still under a blanket that Bruce is sitting on, trapping them quite neatly, and he can’t get away. They each grab a wrist and press against the glands nestled at the inside of his wrist—Dick gently, and Bruce so tightly that a bolt of pain goes through him.

Overwhelmed with instinct, Jason goes limp.

“Assholes,” he hisses weakly.

“This is for the best, Jason.”

How many fucking times has Bruce said that whilst doing things that are obviously not for Jason’s best?

“Tim checked the blood sample four times-“ when the _fuck_ did they—oh those _bastards_ “-and the amount of prolactin in your body is perfect, Jay! We just need a bit of physical stimulation and you should be able to make milk.”

Jason’s blood runs cold. “What?” he croaks.

Dick smiles encouragingly. Bruce’s face is blank. There’s no hint of sympathy in either of their faces.

“You know what that’ll do to me.” Jason says hollowly. Their faces quite clearly state that they’ve already thought this through, that they’ve weighed up Jason’s wants and wishes and discarded them, as always.

An omega on suppressants is undetectable, even when they’re in heat.

No omega can hide the scent of milk. Everyone who comes close enough to smell him will know what he is. There’s no way he’ll be able to hold on to his area. No one will take him seriously as a threat, even with his bloody past behind him. The rogues will redouble their attentions. He won’t be viewed as a competitor but as a prize.

He’ll never be safe again.

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, little wing,” Dick massages his wrist gland with his thumb, brushes his own wrist gland against Jason’s cheek. The gestures are supposed to be comforting—Jason remembers being comforted by them, years and years ago—but Jason is numb.

Once again, his future crumbles before him.

“We’re making you pack.”

Jason’s blood _freezes_. Drinking an omega’s milk forms the strongest bond there is. It’s impossible to break from the omega’s side.

If they drink his milk, he’s trapped.

He’s never leaving the Manor again.

**Author's Note:**

> My niche is people inducing lactation in Jason, and you know what? I'm OK with that.


End file.
